


Faded Glamour

by charlotteschaos



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Implied Incest, Incest, M/M, Written Pre-Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 22:25:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6677770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlotteschaos/pseuds/charlotteschaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ugly truth about Draco's past is revealed when Severus finds Draco strung out on potions in Diagon Alley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faded Glamour

**Author's Note:**

> beta'ed by rosesanguina
> 
> Written for trouser_snaco challenge prompt: 10. Two words: Daddy Issues..

Rays of light strengthened in stripes through the age-old blinds, revealing the growth of ivy over the ceiling of his room. It cracked the crown moldings and wrapped around the long chain to the chandelier of Draco's room. A chandelier in his bedroom; Draco all but laughed at the ridiculous audacity of it, of his life, of growing up here in what he would've once called splendor. How quickly the beauty fades.  
  
Faded glamour: green swirls of paint, fine lines; cracks in the ceiling that once was buffed and perfect. All but that spot. That spot he watched, his eyes heavy with wrong arousal-- the sick feeling of thrilled betrayal.  
  
_He loves me._  
  
_He needs me._  
  
_He needs this._  
  
Somewhere it went from touching to teaching as rationalizations made his head spin till it was pretty clear that it was Draco's fault: that notion, the guilt, the betrayed look in his mum's bright blue eyes and the spark of magic that ended it all.  
  
Draco took another sip of the potion, cursing that it wasn't strong enough anymore. He couldn't sleep and night was fading into day, when the cracks were so much harder to ignore-- when the hardwood floor showed its dust and scratches, when the mirror reflected red eyes and dark circles.  
  
It was in the past, wasn't it? And maybe Draco was done with the past, but the past wasn't done with him. It came back like a tidal wave on a calm sea-- out of nowhere when a friend touched his shoulder, or a woman gave him one of those looks.  
  
And he couldn't see it now, wouldn't see it then. He refused to look at Lucius when it happened. He wouldn't look at him after it ended. Draco could barely remember what his father looked like in spite of his talking head being all over London, all over this house. Portraits, reflections of him, his taste, the life he led before they all turned that corner.  
  
Dutiful son.  
  
_He needed me. He needs me._  
  
Draco crumpled before the porcelain bowl, stomach churning its contents in a long spew of potion-bile as he sobbed at his body's rejection. Nothing stayed down anymore, and Draco started to have a hard time caring.  
  
Without that beautiful, bountiful moment where everything was gone, when all of the dread and memories had parted and he could be himself, but not himself, he couldn't bear to face the day. With the potions, he was hyper-real, and everything sped by too quickly to warrant much of a second thought. He could write, he could sing, he could dance. The Manor would fill with the sound of the Omniano. It would shake the old manor to its foundations and Draco could loop the refrain, spinning, screaming, singing, and free from the burdens of actual thought.  
  
Thought always came down to this: paying this price.  
  
Peeling himself from the toilet, he flushed, and rinsed his mouth out, cleaning up with clumsy charms that left him feeling raw and over-scrubbed.  
  
He could never get clean enough anyway.  
  
Not even when his skin peeled back to reveal the complex workings of severed capillaries.  
  
Dragging himself through the well-worn path in the manor from his room to where he'd set up his potions lab, Draco glared at the book, willing the ingredients to change to something that would create a more powerful tonic. If his mind were clearer, maybe he could figure out what needed to be added, what could be changed or substituted. If his mind were clearer, he could trust himself to try another book, to try a potion that might take longer to make. He didn't have that kind of patience. He'd lost track of time, of temperature, his intense concentration gone.  
  
His finger traced over the onionskin page, long, jagged nail obscuring letters and words till he fisted his hand in frustration. He bowed his head, and his dull, white locks cascaded around his sunken cheeks.  
  
"How weak you are. No son of mine would ever cry."  
  
Muggle ghosts often reenacted old scenes, working out the moments of wrong that had happened in their life. Lucius was all over the manor, hands grabbing, words implying, fingers prying where they shouldn't be.  
  
"No son of mine..."  
  
_More potion_.  
  
Draco glared down into the oxidizing potion pooled at the bottom of the cauldron-- its shiny sinew skin glistening up at him like sick waste.  
  
"Touch it, just like I tell you."  
  
Flushing the remnants of the potion with a weak spell, Draco turned the rusted spigot in the master bathroom-- his adopted other home. The marble lay in disrupted, broken pieces that appeared to still smolder from their destruction, sending a faint mist of crumbling dust into the mid-morning sun that shot through the room unbidden by torched fragments of what were once luxuriant velvet red curtains.  
  
"So much temptation in the bathroom, Draco, I would not wish you to self-abuse."  
  
So much temptation of silky pale youthful skin and 109 tiles counted from bottom to top. Not 110, but if you lost count or were tempted to round that number off, there could be. But there wasn't. Draco had counted-- several times.  
  
_And he wants me._  
  
_He needs me._  
  
_He loves me._  
  
Amidst the wreckage of the counters stood store-bought shelving of some name that sounded vaguely Swedish. Like a pet, like his only friend. A friend whose name he constantly forgot, who took a good kick when he ran out of ingredients.  
  
Sven.  
  
Hans.  
  
Whatever.  
  
It wasn't going to matter if Lars had everything he needed this time. It wasn't sticking. Draco was left twitching, wild-eyed with need, even after it was fresh. Even after a long, strong drink of it.  
  
"Your mum knew what a dirty boy you were. You just had to tell someone, didn't you? Look at what you made her do to herself."  
  
Blood in the snow, just a trace—so dignified, too dignified. Her death seemed inexplicable. Not sad, dazed eyes, surprised, but not shocked. Death is sudden; it grips you like an icy knife and lets go, and it all comes out in the wash.  
  
Wash. Wash your hands. Wash your chest. Wash your hair. Wash your bum. Wash inside, but you'll never be clean, will you, boy?  
  
Catching his reflection in a shard of mirror, Draco threw the ladle across the room in frustration. _I hate you_.  
  
The only thing now was to go to the Apothecary, to hope that they didn't ask too many questions. Failing that, it was to the Leaky. Someone there could make it; someone there could make him forget. Sleazy dealings in the back alleys for potions that came from god only knew where, and cocks that tasted like stale piss and wife lipstick, but he had to get out, get away; escape this fucking manor, escape himself.  
  
\--  
  
Cold wind whipped through Snape's hair, throwing it in his face with the severity of a scorned lover. Normally, he preferred to order his potions ingredients ahead of time. Going out in public, even though he was absolved, was always trying. Not everyone bought into Lucius Malfoy's grand conspiracy scheme that the whole of the Death Eaters was controlled by Voldemort—that his and Harry Potter's twin end had freed everyone from the mind control he'd had over his so-called minions. Rightly so, it was a great steaming pile that was as odious as Lucius Malfoy himself.  
  
On Diagon Alley, his face was everywhere. Election year and it looked as if the lackwit might actually be the next Minister for Magic. He wasn't getting Snape's votes, but then, Snape knew where the bodies were buried. As far as Ministers went, as slimy as he could be, Lucius was par for the course. Not that the general populace would know things like that, but there was something to be said for being the sort of man who, up until the second war started in earnest, seemed to be invisible.  
  
Now that war was no longer on, and his desire for attention and fear had been more than sated, he was well-pleased to experiment on his own in relative obscurity back at Spinner's End. His deadlines were of his own making, as he had no one to answer to. Were he the sort of man who believed in fate or any of that blather Trelawney was always on about, he might've said he felt called into Diagon on this day, at this time. Though he knew he was there for skull of exsanguinated raven powder, when he threw open the door the spiraling snow led him to a dark, thin figure, bent forward at the counter muttering about change.  
  
In spite of his deteriorated health, and slur of obvious inebriation, his drawl was still as aristocratic as ever, his grey eyes just as filled with a blind, venomous rage.  
  
"Mr Malfoy," said Snape as he pulled his bag of coins to pay for the erumpent skin and unicorn mucus. His brows furrowed in concern as he recognized the point and purpose of such ingredients. It was a wonder the boy was still standing.  
  
"Professor." His voice was strangely soft and reverent, as if he'd been looking for Snape for centuries and finally found him.  
  
"I am no longer anyone's Professor, Mr Malfoy."  
  
"I don't need your money," he said knocking Snape's hand away.  
  
The clerk nodded that the ingredients had been paid for. "He was asking about stronger..."  
  
" _Silencio!_ " As slow as Draco seemed he would have been, he was lightning-fast with his wand out, and the Wizard behind the counter looked startled and was blindly going for his own wand, his visage terror-ridden.  
  
Evidently the Apothecary staff wasn't completely buying Lucius's cover story, either. Snape narrowed his eyes at Draco. "Remove that."  
  
Dropping his angry gaze in his petulant way, Draco did as Snape asked and put his hands behind his back, a gesture of submission that Draco had learned somewhere before Snape. One that Lucius had no doubt instilled into his son at birth. Though it made him a little sad to see Draco reacting this way in his presence now that he was a grown man, it did make him easier to control and to remove from the Apothecary.  
  
As he pushed Draco ahead of him, parting the snow in foot-shuffles into the street, Snape got close enough to smell the distinctive mix of sweat, come and illegal potions.  
  
"You should not mess with Lysergiddie, Mr Malfoy," said Snape, but he could tell Draco wasn't listening.  
  
Draco was frozen to the spot, head tilted as he stared blankly at a poster of Lucius Malfoy. The poster promised everything that a politician would: fewer taxes, more prosperity, and a return to family values.  
  
"A vote for Lucius Malfoy is a vote for family."  
  
One moment Draco was staring at the poster, eyes glistening before a single tear slid down his cheek. The next, he was bent over, staining the grey snow with a distinctively bright orange-yellow of potion bile.  
  
Grabbing Draco by the back of his black wool trench, Snape yanked him down the street to the Leaky Cauldron after knocking out a quick spell to clear away the mess. Draco didn't fight him; he didn't even seem to care where he was being taken. His hands were clasped over his face, and he rubbed them in great irritation, as if he could wipe away the vision of Lucius Malfoy by scratching out his corneas.  
  
"Absinthe," Draco said when they'd reached the bar.  
  
Snape gave him a look over the order, but he supposed that if the boy was abusing potions, he could handle a bit of wormwood. Snape ordered coffee and sat down at the bar next to Draco. He watched the meticulous way that Draco arranged the slotted spoon over the glass, loaching with the precision of a Potions master. Were it not for Draco's shaking hands, Snape would've been proud.  
  
They sat in silence for a few moments, Snape waiting for Draco to react to his scolding over the Lysergiddie, but Draco seemed more than content to sip his absinthe, avoiding Snape's eyes. What he was doing, however, was peering around the room quietly, like prey wanting to appear predator.  
  
"The Lysergiddie, Mr Malf—"  
  
"Don't say that name," Draco cut in, finally looking up into Snape's eyes sharply before casting his gaze to the floor. His hands snapped behind his back and he shook his head. "Just... Draco."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Just call me Draco, sir," he said quietly, bowing his head again for a moment. Then he lifted it and finished his absinthe. He waved for another and the absinthe refilled itself. Tom came by with the sugar and gave Draco a curious glance, but otherwise said nothing.  
  
"Right... Draco," said Snape. It was strange how he'd gone back to such formal terms with Draco on reflex. This boy was not the same that he had known in Hogwarts, nor was he hard-faced young man with purpose that he'd observed during the war. "Draco, you were a brilliant student. You know what prolonged—or any—abuse of Lysergiddie does to you."  
  
Draco slid his index finger over the dark wood grain of the bar and then looked up at Severus, giving him that look that both aroused Snape and twisted some sick feeling in his stomach. Draco's eyes were far too calculating to reflect innocent desire, and his plush lips were parted _just so_ , in a way that would evoke the image of them wrapped around Snape's cock. It was the sort of look that Draco had shot at Snape plenty of times in his school career and that usually meant he wanted something.  
  
Though Snape had never taken him up on anything implied, Snape was certainly not immune to having exactly the sorts of thoughts that the look was meant to provoke. In the gaslight of the tiny bar, Draco's skin took on an ethereal glow, dotted by a faded galaxy of freckles that made him still appear boyish in spite of the years or knowledge that had passed.  
  
"I know, but... it makes me feel good. It calms me. It's just... not enough anymore." Draco blinked hypnotically as he leaned in closer and placed a glow-pink hand on Snape's chest. "I can't make any better. I need something stronger, though. You could... do it."  
  
This was off the rails for Draco's coquettish flirting to get himself out of trouble. Draco's breath was warm against the hard line of Snape's lips. He was so close and the urge to just grab the frail man and defile him was much more tempting than it should have been. Snape had to remind himself how sick or high he must've been.  
  
"Draco..."  
  
"I'll do whatever you want," said Draco as he slid off of his stool. His hand dragged from Snape's chest to the front of his trousers. Draco rubbed his palm over Snape's hardening cock. "Want me to suck your dick? Sit on your cock? Eat your arse? Whatever you want."  
  
Snape grabbed Draco's hand by the wrist firmly enough to pull it away, but not so hard as to hurt him. His breathing was accelerated and his body was undeniably interested. Snape wasn't even sure how long it had been. He had his own matters to tend to and unfortunately, sex fell low on the priority list.  
  
"You are not a whore, Draco."  
  
Undeterred, Draco tried again with his other hand. "I'm not asking for money. I can tell you want me. You always did, didn't you?"  
  
Removing Draco's hand, Snape said, "What gave you that impression?"  
  
"I saw how you looked at me. You didn't look at anyone else that way."  
  
That was true. Draco had always held a special place in Snape's mind and, perhaps to an extent, his heart. But Draco misread his intent. "I was... concerned."  
  
Draco had been struggling against Snape's hands, but he stopped to stare at Snape in icy disbelief. Whipping his wrists outward, Draco detangled from Snape's grip, and then shoved him off of his stool for good measure.  
  
"What good are you?" he shouted before finishing his second absinthe. He wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand; eyes still filled with malice, and fled the bar.  
  
Snape followed Draco out and down Knockturn Alley. Here, he paced himself a bit behind Draco, watching him scout between the buildings. It was almost fascinating to watch Draco look-not-look at men who were doing the same to him. Finally receiving a nod from a hooded figure, Draco followed him into the alley. By now, Snape was a full half block from Draco.  
  
Cursing himself for drifting so far back, Snape double-timed his steps, hoping to close the distance before Draco did anything foolish.  
  
Too late.  
  
Draco Malfoy was on his knees in front of the hooded man. The man's head was back, his hood half off of his pockmarked face. His lips formed an "o" as he rolled his skull against the hard rock of the building behind him.  
  
Draco sucked the head of the man's cock, his hand making up the distance his mouth didn't cover in long, petting strokes that made the skin wrinkle and move with him.  
  
Those perfect, plush lips were around a stranger's cock-- a potion dealer's cock. It took a moment of watching Draco's head bobbing, his mouth determinedly staying just over the head and moving slightly, before Snape shouted Draco's name.  
  
It echoed in the empty space, but Draco didn't seem to notice at first. He just continued on his routine of pulling and sucking, eyes lowered as he continued to work it.  
  
Snape was ready to run in and grab him when Draco's eyes slowly opened and locked with Snape's. Slowly, Draco worked the whole cock into his mouth. The dealer grabbed the back of Draco's neck, fisting hair in the process, and held him there as he started to slam his hips against Draco's face. He moved hard and fast, cock glistening on the up strokes. Groaning, the dealer ignored Snape's presence and just continued to fuck Draco's face mercilessly until he shuddered.  
  
Pulling away before the man could come in his mouth; Draco held a hankie against the spewing prick and stared at it with vague disinterest. When the man was finished, Draco wadded up the hankie and tossed it into the running gutter water and then stood and held out his hand.  
  
The man handed Draco a few vials of a dubious-looking version of Lysergiddie and glared at Snape.  
  
Frozen to the spot, Snape glared back and waited for Draco to come his way. "You're coming with me."  
  
\--  
  
The realization of all of Snape's fears about Draco's home life sat huddled on his worn settee, shivering under a mound of throw blankets and sipping tea with shaking hands. Snape winced empathetically when Draco jolted back with burned lips from the steaming liquid.  
  
"I just need...." Draco's face was nothing but need.  
  
Snape knew what he wanted, what he thought he needed. The spoiled vials of Lysergiddie sat securely in Snape's pocket, ripped from Draco's hands before he could stow them away. Draco had made no aggressive moves to retrieve them, much to Snape's relief.  
  
"No."  
  
Draco's eyes watered, and then lowered as he took another sip of tea.  
  
"Just drink your tea." Reaching into his pocket, Snape slid his fingers over the greasy vials, counting them again as if Draco could have wandlessly summoned one. He'd laced the tea with a heavy sedative and Draco would be out soon enough.  
  
"I'm cold." Obediently, Draco took another sip of tea and looked up again, eyes meeting Snape's with intense longing. What he was longing for was suspect, but Snape held his gaze.  
  
"The tea will warm you." Pulling his hand from his pocket, Snape crossed his arms over his chest.  
  
Draco wrapped both hands around the mug and blew over the liquid. He stared into it for some time, and then blew again. Finally, he took a sip, then, deciding that it was cool enough, he took a longer drink. "You warm me."  
  
It was a surprisingly demanding tone given Draco's prior demeanor. His liquid grey eyes intensified over the rim of the mug, and suddenly he looked much more like the determined Death Eater; the tricky, clever man that had used his wiles to get through the war. It set Snape on edge, but, confident in his potion, he stood, straightened his tunic and crossed to sit next to Draco.  
  
"Finish your tea."  
  
Draco tipped the mug up against his lips and swigged down the remainder of the tea and then held it out for Snape's inspection. The blankets were gathered around his head like a shroud, and he pulled them down and wriggled onto his back, laying his head in Snape's lap.  
  
Already Draco was getting drowsy. Snape could see Draco's expression turning placid and groggy. His eyes rolled and blinked a few times as he fought it off. Snape pretended not to notice Draco's hand groping clumsily for his tunic pocket, obviously searching for the vials. Were Draco more awake, it probably would have been more subtle.  
  
"You watched me," said Draco dreamily.  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"You watched me suck that guy off. You want... I could... you know..." Draco's brows furrowed and he turned his head, nudging his nose against the front of Snape's trousers.  
  
Snape sucked in his breath and pulled his hips back as he reached for Draco's hair, sliding his fingers through it a few times before tugging his hair back to get Draco's face away from his crotch. "I know you could."  
  
"I want..." Draco rolled his head back up at Snape's tugging and he sobbed in frustration.  
  
"I know what you want, but I can't let you have it." Gently, Snape combed his fingers through Draco's hair again, halting to tenderly tug through the knots. Any other student, any other person, and he would not have bothered. Somehow he felt guiltily responsible for turning a blind eye to this. He knew. He knew what was happening and he didn't try to stop it. He caressed Draco's sunken cheek, watching his eyelids flutter with the determination to remain awake.  
  
"No... I want... to love...something. I have..." Draco broke off, his lips still parted in exhale.  
  
Staring down at Draco's face, Snape stopped his hand, anticipating his next words. Slowly, Draco's head turned away from Snape's body and his breathing slowed to a dozing pace. Part of Snape wanted to shake him to find out what it was Draco had, but he thought he knew. Instead, he removed Draco's hand from his pocket and traced a worn finger along his hairline to pull his hair back from his face.  
  
"You have too much love, Draco. You always did. That's why you hurt."  
  
\--  
  
Though the manor house in Wiltshire had been passed down for generations, Lucius Malfoy was apparently trying to escape his past through symbolism, leaving the old manor to rot while he lived in a decadent penthouse in London amongst the Muggles he'd sought to exclude. In the front entryway was a portrait: the Malfoy family as it once was, Narcissa radiant and Draco petulant whilst Lucius stood ruling over all he surveyed. Symbols do not constitute a family.  
  
Snape was shown to his seat in Lucius's study. It wasn't unlike the study that he'd had in Wiltshire. Lines of books that could not have been touched in decades filled the impressive mahogany bookcases behind where he sat in his leather chair. Setting out his pipe, Lucius leaned back to affect a casual air.  
  
"Severus, I appreciate your discretion in coming to visit at this hour. Whilst you and I realize that the power of the Dark Lord has been decimated, there are some that might consider our meeting untoward." Lucius stood and took a seat in a leather wing-back chair before the fire, gesturing to Snape to do the same. A bottle of brandy appeared on the table before them, followed by two snifters. Snape refused the offer by shaking his head and took his seat without reaching for the glass.  
  
"Of course, Lucius. The election is close; I understand your need for everything to appear above board." He wondered now if Lucius had deluded himself regarding his involvement in the Death Eaters. Perhaps he could speak with such passion about being possessed because he truly believed he had been. What lies people tell themselves to avoid their poor choices in the past. Snape was all too clear about Lucius's role and was prepared to remind him should he need it.  
  
"Good, good." Lucius paused to reach for the brandy, picking it up when the glass filled itself to his apparent satisfaction. Swirling the amber fluid, he looked into it, and Snape was reminded of the way Draco peered into his tea before sipping. Malfoys were so filled with secret ambitions, so unreadable. Perhaps their secrets were written in the skin that stretched over liquid; as inscrutable as they were fluid.  
  
"I hate to rush this visit, as it has been so long and I'm certain we have much to catch up on, old friend." A flash of insincere Cheshire cat smile and a quick gesture of smoothing back his hair—politician Lucius was as unimpressive in the flesh as he was on his posters. "But the hour is late."  
  
Because he knew it would unsettle him, Severus sat still, keeping his eyes on Lucius, remaining still until Lucius shifted in his chair.

"I'm here about your son."  
  
"Ah." Lucius took a long sip of brandy and nodded. "So he is finished, is he?"  
  
"Finished?" Snape tilted his head and searched out Lucius's body language. He was tense, but he didn't seem particularly bothered by the idea of Draco's death.  
  
"He hadn't been well since dear Narcissa died. I'm afraid he took her suicide to heart." He swirled his brandy and took another sip. His speech lacked regret and sounded rehearsed. "This is why it is so important to keep families whole, especially during a child's formative years. It is horrendous that I was wrenched away to Azkaban by a panicking Ministry who didn't even bother to investigate my condition." He held up his hand to stop imagined protests. "I understand that I was under the control of a madman and I needed to be stopped before I did further damage. I certainly wouldn't begrudge any constituents who felt I was better off there. I was. But, I'm afraid it had an ill-effect on my son."  
  
Campaigning on his son's death already, as if he'd planned for Draco to die. Snape crossed his arms tightly over his chest and perked a brow. "Draco sacrificed everything while you were in Azkaban to preserve your life, Lucius."  
  
"He was a dear boy from a strong family. Unfortunately, he was quite misguided. But his death will serve great purpose in enlightening others."  
  
"I see." Snape watched Lucius take another slip of brandy, gritting his teeth to keep from lashing out physically. "Then I regret to inform you that he has yet to pass on. Draco is under my care and in recovery."  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
Snape took great pleasure in the way Lucius's fingers whitened against his glass. He wished it would break and cut his fingers apart, but no such luck. "Draco is recovering from his addiction under my care."  
  
"I see. Well. That is... quite _fortunate_ for him." Lucius was breathless and stared hard into the fire, no doubt attempting to recover his wits. He chose to try and find it in the bottom of his brandy glass and then set it down to refill.  
  
"And for you. I'm certain you wouldn't wish to have to bury the last of your surviving family. It would be quite a distraction from your campaign."  
  
"Don't be silly, Severus. I'm quite pleased that he's doing better. I can only hope that his fragile mind hasn't been inventing odd tales and filling your head with nasty speculation. As I said, he took his mother's death hard. I'm afraid that he... well, it is difficult to say what he believes is fact or fiction anymore. Lysergiddie does such terrible things to one's psyche." Again that campaign smile and the superior brow perk.  
  
"He's said nothing of you, Lucius."  
  
Lucius's shoulders lost some of their anxious tension and he took another sip of brandy and set the glass down. "Of course not. There is nothing to say."  
  
"Of course there isn't. It's curious you asked, however." Severus leaned forward in his chair. "Tell me, Lucius, why don't you talk to him?"  
  
After a dismissive gesture, Lucius said, "His head is filled with nonsense. The potions, Severus. There is little point in speaking with him."  
  
"As an earnest father, and pillar of the community, I'm rather surprised that you have not attempted to help him to recover."  
  
Lucius's expression went distant to horrified then back to neutral. "I did not know where he was."  
  
"Interesting that you say that. He's been living in the Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire. That's where he says he's been receiving money from you." Snape continued to glare at Lucius. Not that he'd doubted anything he'd come to believe about Draco's homelife, but every moment proved it. He slid his hand into his pocket, fingers itching to grab his wand and send Lucius to that beyond that he'd wished Draco to.  
  
"Addled mind, I'm afraid. I have not sent him any money, nor would I. I know where it goes." Lucius tapped his temple with his forefinger. "I have attempted to bring him to St. Mungo's several times, but he screams at me when I try to go near."  
  
"Does he? Why is that, Lucius?"  
  
"I suppose he doesn't want to go to rehab."  
  
"He didn't scream at me, nor has he been belligerent. Why won't he speak to _you_ , Lucius?"  
  
Lucius's eyes went wild for a moment and he grabbed his brandy again and sipped it. "I do not know."  
  
"I believe you do. I believe we both know." Snape narrowed his eyes at Lucius, but he made no aggressive moves, though he longed to throttle the truth out of him.  
  
"What do you _think_ you know?" Lucius attempted to seem casual, but his eyes shifted nervously about the room.  
  
"Did you touch him?"  
  
"No, of course not."  
  
Snape stared at him, remaining impassive. "He's a beautiful boy. Azkaban can do things to a man's mind."  
  
Lucius shrugged. "Perhaps it does. I wouldn't know because I never did such a thing. You shouldn't believe what an addict tells you to garner sympathy. The boy was overindulged and couldn't deal with real life."  
  
Ignoring Lucius's new story, taking it for what it was, Snape continued, "But of course, this all started long before Azkaban, didn't it?"  
  
"Get out."  
  
"Are these the family values you want to instill?" Snape stood with his hand strong around his wand. He wasn't sure what he came here to do, what he thought he was going to prove. Lucius Malfoy would no more admit a wrongdoing than he would cut off his own arm.  
  
"What do you want from me? Is it money?" Lucius likewise stood, his hand in his own pocket, but he was bleary and drunk by now. His eyes were wet, though Snape couldn't be sure whether it was from tears of regret or humiliation. Possibly both.  
  
"I want you to say what you did. I want you to admit it." Snape blocked out his memories of his own father, late at night, the stomach rubs that turned into more, how afraid he felt at the time and how it drove him to block everything out—all feeling, even love. Only now he could feel every repressed emotion flooding to the surface in a rage he could barely control. But he would. That is what he did. Controlled. "Say it."  
  
"I didn't do anything."  
  
Snape's rage exploded. In a snap his wand was out and pointed at Lucius's throat. His eyes narrowed with intent. All he wanted was for Lucius to admit what he did, to say that he was sorry and to mean it. He wanted to know that there was some sense to this. If Lucius didn't have the answers, then who would? What did it all mean?  
  
There are moments that you can't take back. Moments that define your life. In those moments there is nothing but pure humanity and pure self. They are the actions that define us; good or bad.  
  
Lucius closed his eyes. "I didn't do _anything_."  
  
\--  
  
Draco awoke to the sound of a canary and the loud crash of waves upon the shore. He stood with limbs aching from too much bed rest and clambered from a creaking iron bed to peer out of lace curtains onto the faded winter glamour of the shore awakening to spring. He startled at the insistent tapping of owl beak to the misted window pane that must have been the impetus to his awakening.  
  
Unclasping the latch of the window, the brown owl wobbled in and shook its back free of the ever-present drizzle. It presented a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ with little fanfare by dropping it onto the window ledge. Draco crossed to the simple oak dresser to count up change and pulled a treat for the owl from a drawer.  
  
With the bird paid, Draco stared at the rolled up paper for a long time. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to see the verdict or not. The weeks of sobering made the news easy enough to avoid, but this morning, he knew that he needed to see. He needed to know.  
  
Closing his eyes, he pulled the seal and the paper practically unfolded itself into his hands. Ads started to read themselves until Draco mouthed a silencing spell. Draco pressed his lips together, willing himself to just open his eyes. He'd have to see some time. No matter what happened, he would have to live with it. This moment of anxiety would pale in comparison to future angst, but now that he'd been to hell and back; since he'd been weaned from the potions, he knew that he could deal with this. He had the strength to face anything. Nothing in that paper would take away the pain he'd experienced, nor would it sap his strength to push past whatever came his way.  
  
As if the pitch changed in the room, Draco could feel, before he heard, Snape awaken. He remained in place, his eyes closed, listening to the rustle of sheets, the creak of springs and the radiating warmth of Snape behind him. Draco turned his head, feeling the heat of breath on his cheek as Snape wrapped his arms around his waist.  
  
"You should read it. The news won't change just because you've avoided it," Snape whispered against the corner of Draco's lips.  
  
"If you'd killed him, then there wouldn't be news to find out." It was petulant, but something inside of Draco deeply resented that his father was still alive. Maybe that would eventually be enough to tear them apart, but for now, Draco relished having someone to lean against.  
  
"If I'd killed him, I would have gone to Azkaban and you would have killed yourself with potions. I would have liked nothing better than to end him." When Snape said it, Draco believed it. He knew Snape was right, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with when he was holding election results in his hands.  
  
"Maybe that would have been better." Draco gasped at how hard Snape gripped him and rested his temple against his long nose, going limp as a sign of submission. "I'm sorry."  
  
Snape kissed Draco's temple and whispered, "Just read."  
  
_Malfoy Suffers Defeat; Weasley Victorious_  
  
The picture of Lucius was difficult to look at, even if he was cowed by disappointment. Draco had never been happier for that lack-wit Percy to have ineptly managed to gain power at the Ministry. Of course, that also meant that the Wizarding population didn't buy the Voldemort-as-puppet-master scenario Lucius had used at trial. Good for them. It created other problems for past Death Eaters, but Draco would deal with them later.  
  
Turning around in Snape's arms, Draco dropped the paper and slipped his arms around Snape's neck to kiss him deeply. Draco allowed himself to be backed to the bed, to slide in with Snape, to allow himself to be held and gazed upon with utter adoration. Sober, this was nearly all he could handle. Maybe it was because Snape was older, or maybe because he'd fallen so easily into that role of caretaker.  
  
Sometimes Draco wished he could set it all aside, to give Snape everything he wanted, and everything that Draco wanted him to have. Though Snape said it was all right, though he claimed it didn't bother him, Draco could see the lust in his eyes. The want in an older man's eyes was something that Draco was painfully familiar with. Maybe that was why Snape refused to cross that line. Maybe it was just another future failing point.  
  
But for now, for once, he stopped his mind wandering and allowed himself to feel loved.


End file.
